Empty Bottles
by phantomsfaced
Summary: You're left to your thoughts more often than not - though your thoughts aren't always the best company.
1. Nostalgia

You have a lot of time to think about the old days now. To reflect on how it used to be. It never really does you any favors in terms of distracting yourself from the ever-present feeling of depression that's been descending upon you ever since Vriska died - ever since you killed her (there's no use in sugarcoating it, after all). Sometimes you wonder if it's really worth it to think about it...but no matter what, when you're alone and it's quiet, your mind always drifts to the nostalgic topic of how things were before you fucked up. You think that on some level, you know that everyone else fucked up too. Your mistakes just seem to be more prominent. You're 75% sure that everyone thinks about their mistakes more than other's, and maybe that should make you feel better, because if that's true than no one really thinks about all your mistakes.

It doesn't.

The meteor's always quiet now, and you're almost always alone. You're left to your thoughts more often than not - though your thoughts aren't always the best company. You wonder if the others avoid because of what you did, or you're just such a mess that you've forgotten to interact with them. In your personal opinion, it's the latter. The humans don't talk to you much anymore - sometimes you wonder if they're scared of you. Scared of trolls in general, of the violence that runs deep through your race. Then you remember that Dave is basically BFFs with Karkat and that Rose is Kanaya's matesprit, and you're probably not that big of a threat to them since they're basically gods. But maybe you _want_ to be a threat - you're not quite sure why, but you have a weird need to feel like you're...important. You just want to have some sort of cosmic significance. You don't want to end up just being a small cog in the wheel of space time. You don't want to be just one troll whose death won't carry any significance. Deep inside, you're scared to know that you already are.

You remember the first day - everyone was excited, full of hope for the new session and dreams for what they could do in the three years of waiting. Sure, it was an intimidatingly long time to spend on a piece of rock, hurtling through the incomprehensible vastness of paradox space, but hey! We're all together, right? It was going to be fine. And it was, for a while. Everyone used to be everywhere at once - voices filled the halls, laughter bounced off the walls of each room...everyone had someone (or some _thing_ ). You had Dave. Rose had Kanaya. Karkat had his romcoms. Gamzee had his weird obsession with crawling through the vents and spying on everyone (though, come to think of it, he still does that). But that was back then. That was back when you all thought it would be worth it.

That's kind of a depressing way to put it. Who knows, maybe some of you don't regret what you've done on the meteor? Everyone's lives seem kind of shitty from your perspective.

Then again, everything seems shitty from your perspective.

Things have really changed from the first day. Now Kanaya has a heavily intoxicated version of Rose, Dave has sick fires, and Karkat has his ever-growing need to fix your "problems". You don't really understand much of what's going on with anyone - hell, you spend so much time drunk (and wallowing in a puddle of cherry Faygo, nursing a hangover and deep, _deep_ self-hatred) that you don't understand much of what's going on with _you_. Your life as of now (or what you remember of your Faygo highs and the times when you aren't drunk off your ass on the wicked elixir) consists of Karkat attempting to fill Rose's now-abandoned spot of resident therapist who analyzes your _entire fucking life_ and problems without consent, Dave trying to cheer you up with his sick fires, and Gamzee.

You really wish that you were drunk for the Gamzee part of your life.

You wish you were drunk for every part of your life.

Maybe then you wouldn't remember that even when you're surrounded by people, you are entirely, pathetically alone - even when you have your thoughts. Even when you remember what you _do_ have.

You have Gamzee.

And the meteor is ominously quiet.

* * *

You wake up to the disgustingly strong scent of spilled soda and a loud rattling in the vents. You can hear Karkat screaming a couple rooms away, the nearly never-ending roll of his speech accentuated by inaudible pauses that are likely Dave saying something sarcastic or Kanaya shooshing him and running off to keep Rose from doing something stupid (stupider than drinking that human soporific, at least).

You groan as the rattling gets louder and louder, tugging the fabric of your hood taut as you pull it over your eyes. You roll over, facing the vent and calling "I'm not in the mood, Gamzee!" as loudly as you can. You hear some disgruntled murmuring as the ruckus gets quieter and Gamzee moves on to do who-knows-what. You don't really want to know - you're just glad that he left instead of ignoring you and stealing your cape _again_. You swear to all the ancient gods, if he...! A loud grumble from your stomach interrupts your black musings, making you wonder when the last time you ate was. _Actually_ ate, at least - not just chugging Faygo or the occasional instance of Gamzee forcing sopor on you, leaving you to wake up hours later with no memory of what happened and purple nail polish messily applied to your toes, stinking of grapes and sopor slime.

You get up, legs shaky and dotted with goosebumps. Your respite block is cold. The hallways are cold. The whole _meteor_ is cold. Karkat blocks the way to the thermostat the humans put in, never letting anyone turn up the heat because " _he's_ in the vents, nookwhiff, and who knows what's going to happen if we make that fucker angry." Sometimes you wait until he gets distracted by something and turn it up anyways - just a little. Nothing he ever notices, not with that dumb sweater. He'd probably lecture you about how dangerous it is to provoke Gamzee, but you know.

You want to make him angry, and you hate yourself for it.

You stumble awkwardly out the door, knowing that the look about you broadcasts the fact that you are a sleep-deprived, bumbling _mess_. The hallway is eerily silent but for the soft echo of your bare feet hitting the icy floor. You round the corner to the nutrition block cautiously, and upon seeing it's empty, you wonder how long you've been sleeping. You brush off the thought as quickly as it came, opening the cabinet with a click and grabbing some grubloaf. You quietly munch on it as you retreat to your respite block, satisfied at the full feeling it gives you and remembering that food is the best. The door swings on its hinges as you walk in, and it hits you that this is so routine for you that you've walked back to the corner without having to even think about it.

You're a crumpled-up mess. You feel like a piece of paper - when you forget to eat you're about as fragile as paper, too. You're paper - smashed into a ball and left on the floor to collect dust. Because that's what you're doing, isn't it? Collecting dust. You're just lying uselessly on the floor, drinking Faygo until you're too sick to care about the taste, and you're waiting. You're waiting for the punishment that you feel like - no, that you _know_ you deserve, but it never comes. The feeling is still there. The _guilt_ is still there, and you _know_ that it will never happen but you are waiting for it because that's how justice goes - and justice always wins, right?

Right?

Sometimes when you ask the question, you wonder who you're really asking it to.

You still know the answer.

You are sitting in silence, feeling emptiness, waiting for something that's never going to come. And deep inside, you know that. You know it's useless. You know _you're_ useless. You know what you're really waiting for.

Nothing.

You're just here, drowning yourself in Faygo and guilt.


	2. Old Friend, New Rival

You're curled up in your scalemate cape on the cold floor of your respite block when you hear it.

A whistle.

Loud and clear as a bell, you hear a whistle. And even before she says a single word, you know who it is.

"Whoaaaaaaaa, Neophyte. You really let yourself go!"

No. No no no no no. You are _so_ not in the mood to deal with this, and really? You never will be. But you've tried before, and when you ignore her she just gets worse. Angry, violent, and loud. So loud that you want to scream, so loud that you're covering your ears and desperately hoping no one walks in because gods, you _know_ they won't see or hear anything and they'll just think you're crazy. So you sigh resignedly, slowly dragging yourself up from the floor and pulling back your hood, squinting even in the low, warm light of your respiteblock. Of course, you don't need to see to know who spoke. Even if your lovely guest hadn't paid you a visit before, her voice was instantly recognizable - it was a voice you had played over in your head ever since you killed its owner. So when you look up, you aren't surprised to see the 6-sweep old version of Vriska Serket, hands on her hips and a confident - albeit slightly disappointed - expression on her face.

You don't know how anyone deals with being able to see. It's fucking ridiculous and annoying and you wish you could just go back to smelling. When you could smell, Vriska was just a blueberry blur. She was easier to deal with that way, quite frankly.

Life was easier to deal with that way.

She surveys the room, as unimpressed as you'd expect a girl who grew up with a fucking _castle_ for a hive to be. She turns her gaze to the floor, kicking an nearly empty bottle of cherry Faygo out of her way, letting the meager remnants spill onto the block floor. She glances back up at you, quirking an eyebrow in unspoken judgement. You opt to just sit silently in your corner, the red fabric of your scalemate cape tangled around your legs. You absently hug one of the many empty bottles of Faygo to your chest, bracing yourself for the inevitable shitstorm that seems to be destined to rain down on you. You stare at Vriska - you always stare when she comes around. She looks at you, painted blue lips spread in a wry smile.

"Take a picture, Pyrope. It'll last longer." She teases. You fix her with a frown in return.

"We both know that nothing would come out but an empty room." You say, your voice hoarse. Vriska gives you a grin that could scare the Cheshire Cat, stalking over to you. Suddenly the room seems very big and time feels slow. You feel like you've been here for hours, and when her shadow falls over you, you barely register it. She stands with a nightmarish smile, towering over your cross-legged form even at her 6-sweep old height.

"Ooooooooh, look who's decided to acknowledge her own hallucination." She says, triumphant. You just grimace, weakly pushing her away and attempting to stand up, only to trip over your own cape, falling flat on your face.

"Look at you! Too drunk off your ass to even stand up." She exclaims, and you hear the smooth, familiar roll of her laughter as you push yourself up from the floor. The only difference is that this time, it isn't accompanied by yours.

"Just leave me alone." You mutter into the tangle of your hair. She laughs again, and it kills you that without so much as a glance, you _know_ she's doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach. It kills you that you know her well enough to remember that, and it's like a stab to the heart when you recall that one of those arms would have been around your shoulder.

"What was that, oh 'M1GHTY L3G1SL4C3R4TOR'?" Vriska croons, crouching over you like a predator.

"You don't exist." You say louder, brushing your hair out of your face and glaring at her.

"Leave. Me. Alone." Vriska narrows her eyes at you, her eyebrows knitting together and her lips pulling together until they're nothing but a small blue lump on her face.

"Face the facts, Neophyte. I'm _your_ fucking hallucination. I leave when you get your shit together." She says in a low voice. You grit your teeth and resist the urge to punch her. Your fist would never hit anything - you speak from experience.

"My name isn't Neophyte." you reply, still unable to banish the shakiness from your voice as you turn back around and lie down with a thump, staring at the wall.

You can feel the floor vibrate with heavy stomps as a shadow creeps up the wall. Vriska leans down, so close to you that you can feel her breath hot against your ear, wisps of her hair brushing against your cheek.

"I'll be back." she warns, her voice as sharp as broken glass. You hear footsteps march to the door, even though the both of you know that they'll never go further than that. The door handle clicks, and then there's nothing there but the distant sound of keys clacking on a keyboard and a faint rattling in the air vents. You squeeze your eyes shut and draw in a shaky breath. You reach your hand out blindly, your fingers searching until they land right on top of what you're looking for. You circle your hands around it, slowly drawing yourself back up to a sitting position.

You don't even need to open your eyes to turn the bottle cap.


End file.
